


Let the Hunt Begin

by Bluskyy



Series: Overly Passionate, Slightly Obsessed [1]
Category: High School Story - Fandom, Hollywood U: Rising Star
Genre: F/M, HuntXmc, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Serious, I'm bad at writing too, Kat don't you dare read this, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, You'll be Happy to Know That This is Currently Being Rewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluskyy/pseuds/Bluskyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you CRAZY?"</p><p>"Nope," she replied calmly, idly inspecting her nails. "My mother had me tested."</p><p>..........................................................</p><p>Omygod I am so sorry you guys. This is trash. Actual. Literal. Trash. It's poorly written, out of character and sloppy. If you were looking for a good fix, this is not for you.<br/>BUT. You will be happy to know that I'm in the process of rewriting this. So. That's good. I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ohmygod I am so sorry you guys. I'm actually in the process of rewriting it now . . . ?

“ . . . and that is why we're discussing the decline of the romantic comedy, a genre that relies too often on an unbelievable formula,” Professor Hunt said, his features lit by the power point projecting onto the wall behind him. 

“How often,” he continued. “Have you seen the two lead characters spend most of a movie fighting with each other, only to end up together because of some ill-established passion?” His tone told them all that he expected their devout attention and would accept nothing less.

“Real love,” his eyes swept through his classroom, gaze cold, daring them to challenge him. “Is nothing like that.”

How would you know? Andrea thought sardonically, idly twirling her pencil.

Hunt persisted with his lecture, but She knew she should listen to him, knew that this would help to further her career, build her name, but she just couldn't find it in her to pay attention.

An elegant spiraling flower began to form in the margin of her otherwise pristine notebook filled with neatly written notes from her Hollywood 101 class. Professor Hunt carried on with his lecture on the fall of the romantic comedy, one of the many, many disappointments that came from this town.

She watched her professor, listening with only half an ear. He had been a big name in his day—supposedly—but she could never figure out exactly how he had ended up as a college professor. Ethan had told her that Hunt had once been the director that every producer wanted; the actor that directors fought to have in their picture; and such a skilled thespian that most actors could only dream of working with him.

Looking at him now, Andrea could hardly believe them. She had to admit, he was talented. Who else could keep an entire room of undergrad college students under control without uttering a word? 

Next to her, Addison gave her a discreet nudge. “What is it?”

Andrea took on an indifferent voice. “Can you imagine someone in love with Hunt? Or even dating him?” she asked, her gleaming eyes the only indication of her amusement.

Addison made a face at her when Professor Hunt turned his back to gesture at the screen. “No,” she said, silently snickering. “It would be like dating an angry bear.”

“Ethan would take offense to that!” she replied. 

“Andrea!” Addison glared at her in mock outrage. “I'll tell him you said that.”

“You do that.”

“I heard he's single, unsurprisingly.”

“Wait, Ethan or Hunt?”

“Andrea!” Addison looked over to her boyfriend, a few rows away from them, making sure he hadn't overheard. She shot a look of fond irritation at the director. “You're evil. No wonder you and Hunt lock horns so often: he's afraid you'll take over his job of the most sardonic person on campus.”

Andrea sent her a enigmatic smile. They lapsed into silence, jotting down a few things from the lecture.

“He's probably got crazy high standards,” Andrea mused quietly, not looking up from her notes. “Do you think he has a type?”

Addison scoffed. “Sure. If perfect is a type. Like, someone with a model hot body, a mind as sharp as a stiletto, and a Hollywood career that's skyrocketing!”

“So . . .” Andrea began thoughtfully. “Someone like me?” 

Addison started. “Shut—up!” she almost shouted, her voice elevating before quickly toning down again, afraid to be overheard. “Are you thinking about making a move on—” she lowered her voice even farther, even going as far as to glance around to make sure no one was listening—“Hunt?”


	2. Chapter 2

“May—be,” she grinned. 

“Andrea! Are you insane?” Addison asked, shocked.

“Nope. My mother had me tested.”

“Have you completely lost it? Not only is he your professor, but last time I checked, he sorta hates your guts!” she hissed.

“A lot of people hate me,” Andrea pointed out. “Besides . . . that jawline.”

Addison only gaped at her, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Do you even know what dating Hunt would be like?”

“I don't, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me,” Andrea rolled her eyes.

“It would be like getting graded all—the—time. He'd be judging your outfit, insulting your conversation—”

“—like he doesn't already do that,” Andrea muttered.

Addison continued as if Andrea hadn't said anything. “—critiquing your kissing techniques!” She lowered her voice to sound more like Hunt's.

“ 'I've seen more believable kisses on The Bachelor, Andrea!'”

“It couldn't be that hard.” 

Addison raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I didn't say it would be easy, but it cannot be that difficult. I mean, look at Ethan.”

“Okay okay, I see your point, just, shh!” Addison said quickly, still keeping her voice down. The fashionista reached into her backpack for her water bottle, taking a sip of the refreshing liquid.

“I wonder if Hunt would be the one to dominate that kiss. I mean, he has to use all that pent up sexual frustration somewhere,” Andrea mused thoughtfully. Addison choked on her water, laughing in between bouts of coughing. Andrea couldn't help but join in.

“Andrea!” Hunt snapped, gaze livid, completely ignoring her friend. The two friends sobered up immediately. “Is something amusing? Perhaps you'd like to finish off my lecture on the difficulty of realistically portraying love?”

Andrea beamed at him. “I thought you'd never ask, professor! When do I start?” she asked, eliciting a laugh from the rest of the class that was as suddenly silenced with an irate glare from Hunt; she saw Ciel, the celebutante who apparently live-tweeted her shoot a smirk in her direection.

“Sit down!” he snapped. Andrea complied, still smiling with that easy grin she knew infuriated him. “Now—before I was so rudely interrupted, I was telling you about the—”

The remainder of the class proceeded without incident, filled with the noise of pen on paper and Hunt's deep baritone lecturing on the importance of a precise portrayal of love and the screenplay he expected from all of them the following Monday using that technique correctly.

“—and in conclusions, once a genre full of heart, the majority of romantic comedies have descended into a farce bereft of true emotion. I expect your screenplays on my desk on Monday morning. Class dismissed.”

The entire class rose to their feet and headed toward the door quickly, anxious to finally begin the weekend. Club V.I.P. would be packed this weekend. Andrea made a mental note to avoid the club for most of the weekend.

“Except for Andrea,” he added at the last moment. “We need to talk.”

Everyone filed past her, most shooting her sympathetic looks, except Bianca of course, who shot her a nasty smile.

Andrea sighed, putting her notebook into her backpack, waiting for the rush of students to die down. 

“Ah, just like high school,” she commented dryly, looking at the crowd of college kids all trying to swarm through the door all at the same time.

“Except high school lacked the exciting do-or-die reality of Hollywood,” Ethan said, coming up behind them and putting his hand on Addison's waist.

“True,” his girlfriend replied. She turned concerned hazel eyes on her friend. “Want us to wait for you, Andrea?”

Andrea rolled her eyes, slipping her backpack over her shoulders. “You guys make it seem like you're preparing for my eulogy, or something. Relax, I'll meet you back in the dorms in an hour .”

“Good luck,” Addison whispered as she and Ethan walked out of the lecture hall. “Hope you're not in too much trouble.”

“Trouble? Me?” she asked innocently. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Addison and Ethan sent her simultaneous eye rolls, leaving with a wave as Andrea approached Professor Hunt's desk.


	3. Chapter 3

“Just a moment, Andrea,” he said quietly, looking over some of his notes from that class.

Fine, ask to see me after class and then don't even give me the time of day it's fine—by—me, she thought sourly.

He made a note on the papers that had been turned in the other day. Andrea caught a glimpse of hers with a bright red 'A' on the top, making her grin.

Hunt didn't seem to be in a hurry to contradict her, so she amused herself by checking out his desk. Several piles of papers were stacked neatly across his desk, not a single one out of place . . . except for the brightly colored ticket, half-hidden by the rest of his papers.

'5th Annual Los Angeles Charity Masquerade' it read.

“A masquerade ball, hmm?” she asked randomly. “That sounds . . . romantic.”

Hunt didn't even set his papers aside as he answered her. “Only someone delusional looks for love at a masquerade ball,” he said condescendingly. “This is merely an obligation.”

“So . . . no date then?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could manage. It worked, supposedly, as her teacher merely raised an inscrutable eyebrow.

“A date would require me to spend the entire evening there. I cannot imagine anything worse.” He straightened a sheaf of exams. “I will be leaving as soon as I've made my donation to the cause.”

Hunt's voice cooled, fixing her with a stern glare. “But I didn't call you up here to discuss my social calender, Andrea. I wanted to talk about your behavior in class.”

She felt her smile drop a fraction and a tiny bubble of guilt pop up as she tried to explain. “I'm sorry, sir. Addison and I were talking about the subject at hand, I swear. It just got out of hand when she choked and we just—” she quieted as Hunt held up a hand.

Sometimes, something like that would set her off and send them both into a bickering match, each trying to out-insult the other. But today, Andrea just quietly accepted his authority.

That should have given him the first hint that something was about to go terribly, irrevocably wrong.

“I don't want to hear your excuses. It is unacceptable to interrupt my lecture. Save your chit-chat for your own time. Do you understand?” His gaze was stern, probably expecting some smart-ass response. Unfortunately, she didn't have one, probably because she was too busy staring at her professor to come up with one.

Instead, she only replied with a solemn, “Yes sir.”

Hunt watched her for a moment, as if he was waiting for some reaction from her. Finally, after a pause, he dismissed her with a wave and a short, “Good. You may go now.”

Andrea didn't waste any time leaving the classroom. As soon as the door closed, echoing in the now empty hallway, she pulled out her phone, pulling up the site for the ball.

Hmm, there's still tickets left . . . 

For just a moment, Andre paused, wondering if this was going too far. Her finger hovered over the screen.

Maybe I shouldn't . . . He's my professor after all! And Addi was right, he hates me, and there is no way this could ever work out!

. . . But it'll be so much fun to mess with him!

Andrea grinned before pressing the button to purchase her ticket. Whatever happened, she was going to enjoy tonight, professor or no.

Let the Hunt begin, she thought with a savage grin, laughing to herself as she exited into the quad.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you crazy?” Addison demanded as Andrea dug through the closet she shared with her roommate.

“That depends on your point of view,” she said, searching through her dresses for . . . she didn't even know anymore. “Am I crazy? No. Overly passionate? Yes. Slightly obsessed? Eh . . . maybe. What do you think of this one?”

She held up a light blue, sleeveless, dress with black lace around the middle. 

“Andrea, I am legitimately questioning your sanity and you're looking for a dress?”

Andrea was still contemplating the dress in her hands, she pursed her lips before tossing it onto the bed behind her and moving on to the next one. “Nah, too showy. And yes, I am looking for a dress because this was a spur of the action moment and frankly, I have no idea what I'm doing.”

Addison sighed, her frustration melting away. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot believe I'm helping you.”

Andrea froze in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Move over.” Addison pushed past her friend, reaching into the deepest part of the huge closet.

“Thank you so much, Addi!” Andrea gushed. “You're a life saver!”

“Don't thank me yet,” the fashionista grumbled. She pulled out a sort, silky, dark blue dress with an explosion of rhinestones on the shoulder and hip. “You'd look decent enough in this.”

Andrea could tell she was still miffed, so she did what she always did to brighten someone's mood.

“Mmnph!” Addison protested as she was almost bowled over by Andrea's tackling hug. 

“You're the best friend in the world! What would I do without you?” she said in a rush.

“I figured I owed you one for helping out with the Fashionista Formal. Now go put it on before I change my mind about helping you,” she ushered, breaking the embrace and shooing her into the adjacent room. 

She was trying to sound stern, but the corners of her lips kept twitching, so Andrea knew her heart wasn't in it.

Smiling quietly, she disappeared into the bathroom, stripping off her usual dark gray sweater and dark jeans, slipping the smooth fabric over her head. She brushed on a few strokes of dark eyeshadow and a thin layer of light lipstick.

Andrea straightened the skirt, smirking into the mirror as a brilliant idea came to her. She flung the door open, posing sultrily against the door frame, one hand on her hip. 

Fetchingly draped against the wall . . .

“What do you think?” she asked, voice lowering, eyes meeting . . . 

“Ethan?” she asked agape, staring at him with wide eyes. His mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before he burst out laughing.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” she asked angrily, crossing her arms to hide her embarrassment. She could feel her cheeks heating up.

The picture of sophisticated grace . . .

Shut. Up.

“Your face—when you—” he gasped out, clutching his sides. When he finally calmed down enough, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Damn, Andrea, I had no idea you were such a tease.” 

“Shut up, Ethan,” she muttered, cheeks flaming.

He chuckled. “Sure, for twenty percent.”

She glared at him. “Fifteen!”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine, fifteen. But I would like to know why my lovely charge is gallivanting around dressed like that.”

Addison came in from the kitchenette. “She's going on a date—hopefully. And where are you, the eighteen hundreds? Nobody uses a term like 'gallivanting' anymore.”

“You're wrong, babe, I just did,” Ethan said with a grin.

Addi rolled her eyes. “Gee, call the press: Ethan Blake's revamping out-dated terms. They'll have a field day with that one.” She walked behind Andrea and began to pin up her hair.

“Who's your date with?” Ethan asked Andrea. She blushed.

“Oh—um—you see—he isn't exactly my . . . date . . . yet,” she stammered.

“Ooh, a secret, hmm? I bet I can guess who it is.”

She gave him a doubtful look, slipping into sturdy silver heels. “I seriously doubt that. How do you know it's a 'he' anyway?”

He gave her his signature cocky agent grin, folding his hands under his chin. “I think it's . . . hmm . . . Thomas Hunt?”

Her jaw dropped and she would have jerked forward . . . if Addison hadn't just hissed at her to hold still. “How did you—?”

“Simple. Addi told me. I think it's a brilliant idea!”

“You . . . do?” she asked suspiciously.

“Of course! What better way to knock our beloved professor down a few pegs? This is perfect. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself.”

Andrea commuted another eye roll. “I'm so honored that you think my idea is worthy of such recognition.”

“There!” Addison exclaimed at last, letting her hair fall into a side swept, pin up twist. “Go and chase after Hunt. Shoo, you wouldn't want to be late!”

Andrea lingered in the doorway. “Why do I have the distinctest feeling you're trying to get rid of me?”

“'Cause I am. Now, scram!”

Andrea laughed as she was shooed out of their dorm room. “I love you too, Addi.”

“Mmhmm, sure. Have fun, kid. Make good choices!” she shouted after her roommate's retreating form. Addison closed the door and sat next to Ethan with a huff.

“Calm down, Addi,” Ethan said soothingly, knowing his girlfriend worried constantly for their friend. He kissed her cheek. “Andrea's going to be just fine. Now. About that 'date' we planned . . .”


	5. Chapter 5

The orchestra in the back of the room started a steady, fast-paced foxtrot.

Andrea's eyes lit up. “We should dance!”

Thomas shook his head. “I don't dance with just anyone,” he said.

Oh, so now he's playing hard to get? Sneaky bastard.

“You mean no one's good enough too dance with you, is that it?” she crossed her arms with another sly smile.

He took another, tasteful swallow of scotch. “That's precisely it.”

“Is it possible that I'm an exception?” she asked coyly.

“Possible? Yes.”

Yeees!

“Likely? No.”

Goddammit, Hunt!

Andrea frowned. “The alternative is I walk away from you without a backwards glance . . . then you'll never learn who I am.”

For a few seconds, she was afraid he would let her do exactly that, then he slipped off the barstool and buttoned his tuxedo coat.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. “Try to keep up.”

Andrea's mouth suddenly became dry, she hadn't expected to get this far. Hesitantly, she placed one hand on his sturdy shoulder and the other in his offered hand.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“What?”

“If you're nervous, this dance will be over before it even begins,” he said acridly.

“I am not nervous,” she said hotly.

He leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. “Prove it.”

In response, Andrea placed a hand on the small of his back and pulled him closer, pressing her body flush against his. She could feel the heat radiating through his clothes as he took in a sharp breath. 

“Like that?” she asked innocently, enjoying the faintest flush that rose on his cheeks as he swallowed.

“That . . . wasn't what I expected, but it works,” he said, placing a firm hand on her waist, preventing her from moving any farther away—not that she minded—and began the dance. They started out slow, winding between the other couples on the dance floor.

“Hmmm, you're not completely horrible,” he mused.

“You sound disappointed, Thomas,” Andrea chided. Secretly, she was pleased, those seven years of dance lessons had paid off after all.

Thomas—how she loved calling him that—hummed appreciatively. “It seems your talents have attracted the attention of the entire ballroom.”

Andrea didn't tear her eyes from his, but she could feel the stares of the other party-goers. “It's all in the leading,” she told him with a smirk.

Her steps didn't falter as Hunt's grip tightened on her waist as he said, “Normally, I'd agree, but in this case . . .” he lowered his head and whispered in her ear, making her shiver, “You're the mesmerizing one.”

“That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” she whispered back.

“What?”

“Er—tonight,” she amended quickly. “That's the nicest thing you've said to me tonight!”

She'd have to be more careful.

Hunt stared down at her thoughtfully, twisting her heart strings. Her pulse raced, both from the speed with which they danced and the feeling of his hand on her waist. The music began it's crescendo, the pair twirling around the dance floor faster and faster, until the seemed only a blur to their audience.

“Keep to my tempo, or you'll fall behind,” was the only warning she got before Thomas spun her out. Andrea grasped his hand again and was snapped back into his embrace, he twirled her into a sensual dip as the music ended with a flourish.

“The crowd applauded as Hunt pulled her up, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders.

“You learn quickly,” he said, breathing deeply, his eyes bright with exertion. “I wish you were one of my students.”

“So . . . you're a teacher?” Andrea asked, still playing the game she had inadvertently set up. 

Thomas looked almost startled. “I—I suppose I can't back out of that one. Yes, I'm a professor at a local university.”

“I hope you're not too soft on them,” she said heartily, grinning despite herself at the irony.

“I only push them hard enough for them to learn that Hollywood is brutal. I they can't pass my class, they can't make it in the cutthroat reality of the world.”

“Hmm. I never thought about it like that before,” she mused. “You sound like you really want them to succeed. Any—interesting students?” she asked offhandedly.

Thomas huffed, Andrea had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Most of my students are mediocre at best, but there's one . . . Andrea . . . From day one, Andrea was the most insubordinate, disrespectful, infuriating student to ever step foot in my class.”

“Whoa. Wait just a second,” she protested, a bit more fiery than she had intended. “This—Andrea must have some redeeming qualities, right? It seems this student has more to her than what you're saying. Doesn't . . . Andrea have passion?” She bit her lip again, this time in apprehension. She had said too much . . .

“I suppose Andrea is passionate . . . ” Thomas said reluctantly. “I've never seen anyone care so much about school projects since, well, me. And I have to admit, passion is important in this town. Without it, you can burn out like that.”

“Is it possible that you dislike this—Andrea so much because she reminds you of yourself before you became a teacher and you don't want her to follow the same paths that you did?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Thomas blinked at her. “Were you a shrink before you decided to be a director?”

Andrea laughed lightly. “No. My brother, Jon, is a psychiatrist.”

Thomas smiled. Andrea froze for a moment. 

Did he just . . . smile?

Damn is that sexy.

“I digress,” he apologized. “Andrea is just a student, and I would much rather focus on you at the moment.”

Andrea gave him a full smile. “No arguments there.”

“Come on, I think they're starting a group dance!” Thomas exclaimed as he led her back onto the dance floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Andrea bowed to her partner, a red-haired young man dressed in a tasteful green and gold attire, as the music wound down to it's end. Her partner did the same, giving her a radiant smile and thanking her. She smiled and nodded, but her eyes were already searching for Thomas. She had lost sight of him as soon as they had changed partners in the dance.

On the clear other side of the room, she thought she caught a glimpse of a black and silver mask. Hurrying over to him, she tapped him on the shoulder. The man started and turned around.

“There you are!” Thomas said, looking slightly relieved. “I was looking for you after the dance.”

Was he worried? Aw.

“But I found you first,” she said proudly. “It was easy enough to . . . what did you say earlier? 'Analyze the nuances of your physicality and behavior'? I simply trusted my instincts,” Andrea replied smoothly.

Thomas gave her a lengthy, inscrutable look.

“Thomas?” she asked after a moment of silence. His gaze, though not uncomfortable, was making her self conscious. 

“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her through the crowd onto a private balcony. He removed his mask, taking a deep breath of the crisp sea wind.

“Disappointed?” he asked, watching her closely. He looked almost as if he expected her to say 'no'.

“Not at all,” she answered truthfully.


	7. Chapter 7

“So tell me, Thomas, is this masquerade living up to your expectations?”

He gave her a long, measured look, before answering evenly, “It has . . . exceeded them many times over.”

Andrea came up next to him and playfully bumped him with her hip. “Is that as close as you come to saying you enjoyed yourself?”

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. “You were a welcome distraction from the entire night. I—I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. I can sense something about you, a connection . . . I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I'd just met, but I can't—seem to stop myself; more surprisingly, I find I don't want to. Can you even explain something like that?”

He leaned forward.

“Some people say that when they're falling in love,” she said softly, leaning ever so slightly to meet him.

“I don't 'fall in love',” he said in the same tone.

“That's what everybody says,” she whispered, then their lips met, and talking was the farthest thing from her mind. 

Thomas Hunt's kiss was slow, almost hesitant in comparison to his words earlier—sweet. He broke away after a long moment, Andrea almost whined, just barely managing to catch herself, and leaned closer, trying to capture his lips again. Hunt watched her, but didn't move closer or farther away.

“You held back,” she accused with a hint of a pout.

“I wouldn't want to chase you away too soon,” Thomas replied, his eyes glittering in the early evening light.

Andrea growled—God, did that sound actually come from her? 

“You won't have to worry about that,” she told him, grabbing his tie and pulling him down. Their mouths moved in sync; Andrea's mind was in overdrive, the logical part of her brain telling her that this was a terrible idea and it would all end badly, while the other half—even though it agreed with Logic—reminded her how much she didn't care.

Thomas had changed his approach as well, instead of slow and sweet, his tongue met hers with a ferocity he hadn't shown all night. They battled violently before he reluctantly submitted. Her heart snag in victory, the logical half of her conscience sulking in the corner.

Everything about him was so completely and utterly him, from the faintest lingering taste of scotch on his tongue to the smell of Jade East in his clothes. This night had gone better than she had ever imagined, a truly perfect moment.

Thomas' stare bored into her, gray eyes connecting with her own cerulean. “I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I just met. . . . Please. I have to know who you are . . .”

Andrea gave him a small, sad smile, her perfect moment ruined. “There's only one way to find out . . .”

His fingers reached to the back of her head, ghosting over the nape of her neck and untied the strings of her mask. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Andrea?”


	8. Chapter 8

“Andrea?” The hurt in his voice forced her eyes open. He looked at her with shocked surprise, his pained expression quickly changing to anger.

“How dare you?!” he snarled.

“What?!” Andrea demanded indignantly.

“You lied to me! You deceived me! You—” he paused a moment, searching for the right word. “You seduced me!” he accused.

Andrea was pissed. “Oh, I seduced you? It seems to me that I wasn't the only one doing the kissing here.

“Let's face it,” she continued. “Some part of you knew it was me! Even if you didn't consciously know it, deep down, you hoped it was me! You wanted it to be me!” she snapped.

“HA! Why would I want it to be someone I despise?” Thomas—Professor Hunt hissed angrily. “Someone I don't respect? You are the last person I would ever want to see behind that mask!”

“And what about the fact that, up until ten seconds ago, you were completely into me?” she cried, not showing how much his words stung. Then she approached Thomas, poking him hard in the chest accusingly. 

“You—fell—for—me,” she accentuated each word with a sharp prod. “There was nothing clouding your judgment, only your raw feelings. Admit it!”

Thomas turned away from her coldly. “There is nothing to admit,” he said frostily. “This argument is pointless. I can't be involved with a student.”

“Can't? Or won't?” she asked viciously, crossing her arms.

“I meant what I said,” he replied, without looking at her.

“Then I guess this is goodbye,” Andrea muttered icily, snatching her mask from the floor where it had fallen.

She started toward the door, but Hunt caught her arm. 

“Wait!”

Andrea turned back, Thomas seemed almost as surprised as he did, but, for a fraction of a second, she saw something soft in his eyes, Something she had never seen before.

“Just . . . just wait, Andrea.” He brushed his hand against her jaw and tilted her head up, leaning down . . .


	9. Chapter 9

Andrea held her breath in anticipation, lips parting hopefully . . . 

Then he stopped.

His hand fell away and Hunt took several steps back, buttoning his suit jacket and tightening his tie, both of which had become mussed during their heated battle of wills. His expression hardened, melting back into the familiar set he used in the classroom.

“Professor?” Andrea asked, almost timidly, hearing the hurt in her own voice. Hunt turned away.

“We can't cross this line. Forget this ever happened. Nothing changes.”

“You mean we go back to hating each other?” Andrea asked with cold fury. If she had been pissed before, she was furious now. “Back to 'the way things used to be'?”

“If that's what it takes, then, yes.”

“Are you saying this whole night was a mistake?” she asked, angry tears burning her eyes. She refused to let them fall, refused to let him see her weakness.

“You're still my student. I'm still your professor.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” Andrea snarled, coming so close, their noses were mere inches from each other. “Was—it—a—mistake?”

He brushed past her.

“Answer me, Thomas!”

He froze, shoulders stiffening. “Don't call me that.”

“Then tell me: do you think it was a mistake?”

His reply was so soft, if she hadn't been waiting for a answer, she might have missed it.

“I didn't say that . . .”


End file.
